


Pricked thee out for young men's pleasure

by Petra



Series: Author's Favorites [32]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pegging, Pre-Canon, We're Not Straight We Just Love Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 02:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: Two bright young things meet at a party freshman year, get on well, and get it on; or, on his quest to become himself, Eliot finds a role model in Margo.





	Pricked thee out for young men's pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to chelseagirl and fiercynn for beta-reading.

For the first party his freshman year, Eliot puts on his best machine-washable clothes because he's not bringing the brocade waistcoat to a rager. He spends half an hour getting his hair to look like he just rolled out of bed after a good lay. First impressions count, and he’s been working on who he’s going to be in college for a long time. This is his Solo-cup filled debut.

It’s depressingly like high school parties. All the boys in the living room, kitchen, and den of the apartment other than him are wearing 4-pack t-shirts or stuff with logos so they seem like they have a personality, or at least are glad they got into college. Assuming they're all actually at the right college, anyway. A Brett-Brad-Chad type who's built enough that it might be worth ignoring his Cornell shirt stares at Eliot the right way long enough to get him to say, "Hey, I'm Eliot," and then laughs in his face.

"Suck your own dick, then," Eliot says.

The girl next to him laughs and socks him in the shoulder, too hard for someone he's never met, but her smile makes him think she's on his side even before she says, "Yeah, seriously, Thad, don't you have some girl to hump for thirty seconds before you pass out?"

"Fuck you," Thad says, and turns away.

"I'm Margo, and you're Eliot, yeah?" she says, giving him a once-over as unsubtle as Thad's had been.

"Yeah," he says, looking her over in turn. She's wearing a strapless sequined dress, which is a lot for this party, with matte makeup and a killer smoky look that makes her eyes look huge. Somehow she looks comfortable in all of it, down to what would be teetering-high shoes on most people. Instead of, "Send me the tutorial for that eye look, damn," which is a little too much for sentence one, Eliot asks, "Is his name really Thad? How pedestrian."

"Probably, or one of the Britneys got his name wrong." Margo shrugs. "It's like a hundred degrees in here, Jesus, my tits are melting off."

The trickle of sweat down the middle of Eliot's back agrees. "You want to get out of the crush?"

"You mean before you boil in that oxford? Sure."

Eliot gestures for her to precede him toward the door, first because he wants to see how she manages those shoes, and second because she might be a girl but she has a good ass, and Eliot's equal-opportunity enough to appreciate a good ass, no matter who it's attached to.

There’s something hypnotic about the sway of her hips, but that might be all the pre-gaming talking, not just her. It doesn’t matter which it is, since he’s following her away from the heart of the party instead of following anyone else or diving back in.

She’s not what he was looking for, but she hasn’t asked what he’s majoring in and she walks like she owns the world. He’s majoring in not going home--not going back to his parents’ house--and he’s still learning to walk like that. Maybe the heels help, but he’d hit his head if he was that much taller.

He’ll have to watch her till he gets the hang of it. 

Four hours later they're in her dorm, hoarse from talking. Margo's roommate is sleeping somewhere else, and Eliot has lipstick on his dick and the taste of Margo in his mouth. It's not inherently nasty, but every time he moves his tongue he gets another hit of salt-sweet-musk and thinks, "Pussy," and that brings up a shit-ton of assholes who'd be about as down on him for knowing that as they were about the whole gay thing. Real Men don’t give a fuck about female orgasms.

Neither does Eliot, usually. Still, he’s given too many unreciprocated blowjobs to feel anything but mildly bemused that he went with the flow--ugh, not the flow, the vibe--now that his head’s clearing a little. 

"There's Listerine on my desk," Margo offers, post-orgasmically languid, waving toward the desk with the lamp and computer on it.

"Great," Eliot says, half-sitting up, and knows it's too fast. "I--"

"It's cool," she says, patting his hip. "Go swish and come back, and we'll figure something else out for round two."

"I like guys," he says. It still feels true.

"Yeah? Me too. And girls." Margo shrugs, not looking at him. "If it's not for you, it's not for you. We leave it at round one and you can tell your husband how you experimented in college."

"Um," Eliot says, but in Xanax veritas. "I'd do it again. With you."

That gets Margo to meet his eyes again, her eyebrows high. "Yeah? Even though you like guys?"

"I guess."

"Well." She gives him another once-over. "Go swish, honey. Then something else."

He pulls on his oxford and pants, slips on shoes because dorm bathrooms are where all the shit from bathhouses in the 80's went to live forever, and goes, Listerine in hand. The whole way down the overlit hall, he's thinking, "She's not a guy. She doesn't have a dick. What is even happening to me?"

When he gets back to her room, antiseptic and de-lipsticked, she proves him wrong. Her dick is sitting on her bed next to a tube of lube, bright green and smooth, and Margo's at her computer, still naked. "Grab me a couple of scarves from my closet, okay? Two of the cotton ones."

Eliot laughs while he fingers his way through her scarf collection, wondering whether she wants to tie him up or be tied up. "Do you ever fuck straight dudes?"

"You mean, do I ever fuck people who don't know the difference between cotton and silk?" She shrugs. "Sometimes I want some rough. You know how it is."

He has yet to figure out why he's getting into bed with her again, even as he hands her the longest cotton scarves, a green one and a brown pattern that looks like M. C. Escher attempting trees. She's the farthest thing from rough trade he can imagine. "Sure," he says, and takes his shirt off again.

Margo smiles and takes the scarf. "Great. Now read me this fucking webpage."

It's about making a temporary harness for a dildo. Eliot reads it and gives her a hand. Once Mr. Happy is in place, Margo wraps her hand around the base to steady it.

She doesn't look anything like anything in Eliot's spank bank to date, but he can roll with it, and with how much he wants her to take him apart. He's seen plenty of dudes with attached dicks who were less comfortable naked than Margo is with a tied-on cock, at least when they knew Eliot was anywhere nearby.

Apparently self-possession is one of his turn-ons, which is probably why it takes him a million years to get ready to go out. "So," he says.

"You wanna blow me, or you want me to fuck you, or what?"

It takes him two seconds to say, "Both. Both is good. But you have to fix your eyeliner first, Bambi. Your eyes are smudgy."

She laughs and gets up, the dildo bouncing in ways dicks don't. "Figures you're a perfectionist once the edge is off." She leans in to the mirror stuck to the wall, her eyes wide open, and takes off the bottom line before she reapplies it. "You want some of this?"

Eliot has only worn it a couple of times, experimenting with one he lifted from CVS. But there's no one on campus who's going to see him from across the street and call his dad, or anything like that. "Please," he says. "I left mine in my room."

"Can't have that," Margo says. She pats the bed, and when he moves, she straddles his lap, her dick poking him in the stomach. "Look up, honey." It only takes her a few moments, and then she grins at him. "Oh, you're going to look so good when you're full of my cock."

Eliot's mouth goes dry and he gives her a crooked smile. "Not as good as you will giving it to me."

She pats his cheek. "Good answer."

It's less picturesque than the version in Eliot's imagination--though admittedly, the Margo in his imagination has a cock that's actually part of her body, and that solves some of the problems with misalignment and the way what she needs, sexually, is to get him to hold the dildo steady so she can grind on it, and what he needs sexually is for her to fuck the hell out of him. "Dammit," Margo says the second time she has to retie the harness.

"I can get you off," Eliot offers, in the instant before he remembers real men don't give a fuck about that. But whatever the hell those guys are, Eliot’s not them. Then he adds, "With my mouth, if that's easiest," because it worked before and it won't kill him, but much more of this stilted fucking just might.

Margo frowns. "You didn't like it."

He shrugs one shoulder. "You've got more Listerine, and if you're not trying to find the right angle for you, you can keep the right one for me."

"Eh." Margo puts one of her hands against his, comparing their fingers. Hers are shorter and her nails are the same color as her lipstick was. "You ever fisted someone?"

Eliot does not say “I ain’t had my hand up a yin-yang since Bessie’s calf needed turning,” because his family’s never owned a cow named Bessie, and he’s never going to mention livestock around Margo. She's probably never been within smelling distance of a farm. "Not yet."

"You up for it?"

"Sure. Ladies first."

Margo laughs again. He likes her laugh, and the way it doesn't make her seem any less intimidating. "Hell no, the lube will get too fucking annoying. You first, and if you fall asleep on me I'll tell everyone you couldn't get it up."

"Deal."

*

They keep talking, and texting, and occasionally fucking when there's no one else to do, and three different guys tell Eliot they think he's not really invested in them because he's so interested in Margo. By the third one, all Eliot says is, "You're right."

She's the only girl who's seen him naked until they have a threesome with someone in their bio lab, and for most of that she's in charge and the other girl is okay with it like Eliot is.

"How's your sister?" a barista asks him when he gets coffee without Bambi for once.

Eliot asks, "Who?" and then laughs in the guy's face. "No, she's my best friend."

The words taste different than they had when he was a kid, when it meant mutual protection up to a very specific point.

This time he's not going to fuck it up.

This time, they have each others' backs through all the bullshit that's college.

Then they plan to move to New York together.

Then they're going to grad school together, and it turns out Eliot's never been the exact kind of crazy he thought he was.

They're still going to New York, but not New York-New York.

"What the shit do people wear at magic grad school?" Margo asks while they're packing up everything in her closet.

"Whatever makes them look the most fabulous," Eliot says. His wardrobe has gone from “at least I ironed it” to “I just woke up like this in a Leyendecker ad,” and he’s long past the point where it felt like he was trying too hard. Now they’re just his clothes, half of them thrifted with Margo's help. "I wonder if there are dry-cleaning spells."

"If there aren't, we'll make them up."

**Author's Note:**

> Should you ever need a DIY scarf harness, [here are a set of instructions](http://midorifirehorse.blogspot.com/2009/11/how-to-make-midoris-dildo-harness-w.html).


End file.
